


Skinny Love

by lettertoelise



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Road Trips, Romantic Fluff, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertoelise/pseuds/lettertoelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A FitzSimmons Sci-Ops Era Vacation Adventure</p><p>aka FitzSimmons go to the beach.  Just fluff, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roadtrip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EzWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzWriter/gifts).



> So I wrote this for fun to practice writing fluff (because angst is truly my natural state) and ez is telling me to post it.  
> It'll be about 4 chapters and ridiculous, so I'm pretty excited. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you enjoy it and I'll work to get the next chapter out!

Jemma was watching Fitz from across the lab.  The new intern Claudia, some giant blonde German prodigy, was fawning at him intently as he explained some of the modifications he’d made to the equipment.  Poor, oblivious Fitz was waving his hands about animatedly while the amazonian woman batted her eyes and swept a mane of golden curls over her shoulder.  

 

Eventually FItz toddled back over to his regular work station right next to Jemma, and she was satisfied.  

 

“I expect Claudia is adjusting to the new work setting then?”  Jemma asked pertly.

 

“It’s pronounced ‘Cloud-ia,’ Jemma, and yes, I expect she is.   _ Some _ of us in the lab think it’s important to take the new talent under our wing, you know, show them the ropes.” Fitz answered, casually turning over whatever device he was holding in his hands and squinting at it.  

 

“Oh don’t use that tone with me.  You know as well as I do that you don’t usually care a whip for the interns, except for when you’re busy grumbling about their incompetence.” Jemma flung back, unwarranted irritation somehow creeping into her voice.  

 

Fitz conceded, “Fine, but I was merely going over the procedures for the next few days.  Without either of us here to babysit,  I want to avoid any potential catastrophes.”  Then he looked up and grinned.  It was the small one that lived mostly in his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned only slightly upward. “Besides, Claudia is competent, but not nearly as clever as you.”

 

Jemma brightened.  When she and Fitz had first begun at Sci-Ops there had been plenty of time for collaboration and they’d spent weeks side by side, just as they were now, breaking only to sleep, eat, or fetch tea.  Their only commitment in the beginning had been to each other, to work together and make a name for themselves in the new establishment.  And although Jemma did appreciate their current, slightly senior positions, it had meant more time with interns, at meetings, split between divisions, and less time working the way they did best, together.  

Now the two of them were being forced to take their remaining vacation time before it expired at the end of the month and HR had agreed to let them take the three days simultaneously.  This, plus the weekend gave Jemma a total of five days of Fitz all to herself.  Not that she would have phrased it that way to him, but with all the current work stress, Jemma was really looking forward to some quality time with her best friend.  

 

“Have you given any more thought to what you’d like to do over our mandated holiday?  Did you look over the list of potential activities I gave you?”  Jemma asked.  She was categorizing the samples on the adjacent shelf - not a highly demanding task, but Jemma felt like a kid on the last day of school, and her attention span was unusually compromised.

 

“You know,” Fitz offered, his nose crinkling at the bridge as he spoke, “I’ve never been to the beach.”  Jemma laughed.

 

“But Scotland has loads of beaches!  How could you have never been - well, actually, I suppose you need have seen the sun first . . .” Jemma smiled coyly and continued stacking her petri dishes.  

 

“Yes - I’m pasty, I know,” he replied in pretend annoyance.  He was staring down at his tablet, playing along without looking up, the eerie light from the screen caught in the blue of his eyes.  

 

“Then the beach it is!  The question is - which one?”  Jemma returned to her desk and pulled out a notebook full of color coded tabbed pages and thumbed through until she found the spreadsheet she was looking for.

 

“I’ve narrowed it down to Rhode Island or Maine, although, Maine beaches are less sandy and more tidal.  What do you think?”

 

Fitz pursed his lips in concentration, a finger sneaking to rest in the dip above his chin.  “Tidal sounds more interesting, honestly.  And there will be lighthouses and all that.”

 

Jemma felt her smile extend to the very corners of her face.  Fitz and the beach - this was going to be perfect.  

 

***

 

It was remarkably warm for mid April and Fitz was surprised to see even Jemma had resigned herself to a t-shirt and jeans for their journey.  As both of them were still too young to rent a car in the state of Massachusetts, Fitz had managed to procure a mammoth SUV in exchange for replacing the fuel cell in one of the laboratory generators.  

 

“Are you quite sure you feel comfortable driving something so massive, Fitz?”  Jemma had asked, surveying the black beast before finally popping open the rear door and tossing in her duffel.  

 

He had given her every assurance, however, navigating in the busy city traffic proved more irritating than Fitz had initially expected and Jemma’s confidence in him had seemingly broken down the more expletives he chose to utter.  

 

Feet propped up on the dashboard, she sat with the crossword open on her lap, mindlessly tapping her pen in between reading clues.  

 

“Blast.  Who is ‘the woman’ to Sherlock Holmes?  I  _ know  _ this one,” Jemma moaned, tipping her head back dramatically against the seat.  

 

“You and I both know it’s Irene Adler, Simmons.  Stop feeding me the easy ones to make me feel better about myself.  I’m not playing your bloody game.”  He was cranky and he knew it.  Completing the crossword was an activity Jemma had picked up from the theoretical mathematicians in their division and recently she had started forcing them on him, although she knew he was slightly weaker than her verbally.  

 

“ _ It’s good to expand your skillset, Fitz.  There’s no shame in it,”  _ she had insisted, but that had done little in the way of encouragement.  He thought she must know he could swim laps around those damn mathematicians - in his sleep.  Honestly, they could theorize all they wanted, but application was what mattered.  The beauty lied in building things.  Obviously.  And it didn’t help how they leered at her like she she was a glass of water and they were thirsty.  Jemma might have been too busy for Fitz in their current work schedule, but it also meant she was too busy to truly bask in the attention of certain overeager parties.      

 

Sneaking a look over in her direction, Fitz noticed Jemma’s face had fallen and she had let the crossword drop into her lap while her gaze fixed aimlessly out the window.  He’d barely seen her for months, apart from the occasional shared breakfast or stolen moment to collude in the lab.  Even when they managed to schedule movie nights, the two of them had ended up passed out on the couch by 9pm, only to wake a tangle of limbs and blanket.

 

Fitz felt himself soften.  “I’m sorry, Jems.  What was the next clue?” he asked, more gently this time.  She turned back to him and smiled.  It was the large one that made the freckles on her cheeks dance as her nose squinched at the bridge.  At least they had this holiday together and Fitz was looking forward to the next five days of Jemma Simmons all to himself, although he wouldn’t have phrased it that way to her.      

 

“I was thinking perhaps we might listen to some music, actually.  It is a road trip after all.”  

 

With that, Jemma set up the bluetooth control and soon they were both singing ‘Blister in the Sun’ at a terrible pitch and laughing.  Fitz snuck one more look back at his friend as she slapped her hands on her thighs to the beat and belted the words to the song at the top of her lungs, the sun streaming through her auburn hair.  He’d missed this.  


	2. Beach daze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this may be the single fluffiest thing I've ever written. I am also pretty sure I giggled the entire time. 
> 
> Posting this from a hot spot I made from my phone in the deep Maine woods (nothing but trees here, friends) - so I'm pretty impressed with myself. Yay technology!
> 
> Anyway - I really hope you like this chapter. It was a blast to write!

Jemma didn’t know which view she liked better – the one of the of approaching ocean, water kissing the sky, or Fitz’s awe struck face, his mouth agape and blue eyes wide.  Despite the load on their backs (packs stuffed with towels and, of course, snacks) the pair had silently agreed to break into a run, ditching everything as soon as their shoes struck sand and were quickly abandoned.  They ran straight to the water and Fitz let out an involuntary yelp at it’s ice cold sting. 

“Bloody hell!” he shrieked, immediately hopping backwards.  Jemma giggled as she bent to roll up the legs of her jeans and waded in a bit deeper. 

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it!”  she said tauntingly, trying to mask her own labored breathing as the waves licked higher on her calves. 

Not wanting to be outdone, Fitz grimaced and bent over to adjust his own pants and tightened his shoulders as he plunged in after her.  His eyes were pulled shut and he let out a hiss as the water rose to just below his knees. 

“I think my feet are numb,” he whispered and Jemma laughed, bending over to dip her fingers into the waves and scoop up a battered ivory clam shell.

The tide was on its way out, revealing an expanse of flat wet sand speckled with seaweed and patches of rocks.  The unseasonably warm weather had drawn a small crowd to the beach – couples walking hand and hand along the water, children squealing and splashing in the surf.

Jemma reached out to grab Fitz’s hand and his eyes snapped open as she pulled him across to a place where the tide had carved a pocket in the sand and left behind a population of spotted periwinkles.  With matching smiles, the two leaned over the pool, hands resting on bent knees or stretched out to trace the thread-like paths left in the wake of the small creatures.

The sun bounced gold off of Fitz’s short curls, his cheeks flushed with fresh air and exercise.  When he raised his eyes to hers, bright and full of excitement, Jemma felt her heart skip a beat.  She found herself looking away, forcing the butterflies rising in her chest to quiet and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  This had been happening more frequently lately and Jemma found her gaze settling on him, a sheepish half-smile creeping across her face.  Sure, he was her best friend and it was entirely natural she be so fond of him.  Fitz was the most interesting and clever person she had ever known, of course she would hang on his every word and laugh at his every joke.  Except . . . Jemma wasn’t sure best friends were supposed to savor every brush of skin or blush furiously at every lingering stare.  She couldn’t pinpoint when she’d started feeling this way, but she knew Fitz had started telling her something and she couldn’t hear him over the thrum of her own heartbeat ringing in her ears. 

_ Enough, Jemma _ , she scolded herself with a frustrated shake of her head and Fitz’s sentence trailed off as his expression turned inquisitive and he stopped to watch her.

“You okay, Simmons?” he asked, “Do you need to get out of the sun for a bit?”

Jemma forced a smile and pulled herself together, deciding to go with the most effective way to distract him.  “I was wondering, actually,” she said coyly, “whether you thought the sand was adequate for castle construction.” 

Fitz’s face split into a wide grin.  “Well, in my professional opinion, as an engineer . . .,” he paused, bending down to rub a few grains of sand between his thumb and index finger, “I would say yes.” 

A half hour later with the assistance of shells, twigs and other tools, the pair was left standing before an impressive turreted structure, complete with a moat and other fortifications. 

Fitz stood with his hands on his hips, sand brushed across his forehead and plastered to his forearms.  Something was bothering him. 

“If I had the proper equipment,” he muttered, “I could analyze the sand composition and devise a mechanism to ensure the water is distributed evenly throughout the structure and avoid –“

Jemma rolled her eyes.  “Of course you could, Fitz.  But it’s just a sand castle.”

He was frowning now, circling the castle like a vulture and rubbing his chin roughly with his hand while the other one rested at his waist.  Jemma knew what was happening.  She recognized all the signs:  Irritability, restlessness, and a tendency to fixate on the negative – Fitz was hungry. 

“Come on, you,” she sighed, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing his hand again.  “I’ve packed sandwiches.”

His face lit up.  “Well, in that case-“ Fitz broke free of her grip and sprinted ahead, Jemma laughed and quickened her pace to keep up.  They rinsed their hands, Jemma spread out a blanket, and the sandwiches were unwrapped.  Fitz held his to his nose and inhaled deeply before taking an enormous bite.  Closing his eyes, he swallowed with a happy groan and Jemma felt a surge of pride unfold warmly in her chest. 

“Too much aioli?” she asked, just in case.  Fitz shook his head enthusiastically.

“It’s delicious, Simmons,” he responded, smiling through a mouthful of food.

The pair sat for a moment appreciating the scene in front of them, until they were spotted by seagulls approaching slowly in search of handouts.  Jemma saw Fitz’s fingers begin to twist at a piece of his roll and she shot a hand out to stop him. 

“Don’t you dare.” She warned and he flashed her a cheeky grin that woke the pesky butterflies in her stomach again.

“Jemma?”

“Yes, Fitz.”

“I like the beach.”

*** 

Hours later the friends retreated from the beach, doused in sand and salt water.  The pink blush of a sunburn was already blooming across Jemma’s freckled nose and she’d long since shed her water logged jeans in favor of her swimsuit bottoms.  Fitz tried not to notice how her t-shirt clung to her form or how long and slender her legs looked extending out from beneath it.  It had been happening more frequently lately, he’d find himself staring at her, caught up by the light of enthusiasm in her eyes and thinking quietly to himself how beautiful his best friend was.

He’d spent the whole day basking in her warm smile, heart racing each time she’d reached for his hand and twined his fingers in hers. 

_ Enough, Fitz,  _ he scolded himself, annoyed at the persistence of the nerves in his stomach.  He wasn’t some lust-filled mathematician, he was her best friend, her equal, and for that reason, if no other, he needed to get control of himself.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, the beach house he’d secured for their stay had been loaned by a colleague in the tech division, keys and instructions handed over with a knowing wink.  Fitz had decided to leave that part out of his explanation to Simmons, revealing only that he’d cashed in a favor and left it at that. 

They returned to the SUV with half a beach worth of sand in tow and they arrived at the small cabin shivering, just before sunset.  They’d decided on Chinese take-away and a movie for the night’s entertainment and although Fitz had spent significant time arguing with the heating system, the place was still warming slower than he would like. 

“I found these blankets in one of the bedrooms,” Jemma announced, dropping a stack in the weathered armchair in the corner.  The beach house consisted of one shared kitchen/living area, populated sparsely with ancient furniture, and a closet-sized bathroom with a small bedroom on either side.  It was clear neither the aging carpet or mustard colored walls had been updated since the 80s, however the place still held a sort of dated charm. 

“I suppose it is April,” Fitz admitted with a shiver, pulling the top blanket down and tucking it around his middle.  They’d pulled the cushions off the couch and set them on the floor, proceeding to fortify the base with pillows against which to lean.  Jemma plopped herself down beside him, tugging his blanket loose and crawling under. 

“You need to share your warmth!” she insisted at his moans of complaint.  Because the beach house had no internet connection, the two had found themselves staring at the Redbox after picking up a six pack at the grocery and retrieving the Chinese food.  After much grumbling (on Fitz’s part) and eye rolling (on Simmons’) they’d finally settled on some generic blockbuster with every intention of picking apart the science in shared irony.  But as the movie cued up and Jemma settled in beside him, Fitz found himself oddly at a loss.  She’d yawned and her head sunk down to rest on his shoulder, her hand somehow sneaking into the space between his waist and his elbow. 

Fitz felt himself tense at the brush of her fingertips on his skin and he straightened, awkwardly dumping Jemma forward off his shoulder and into his lap.  She didn’t say anything, just sat up and stared, expression unreadable as she scooted away and grabbed her own blanket. 

“I’m sorry, I just –“ he began.

Jemma cut him off, patting his hand a few times reassuringly, “It’s okay, Fitz.  Not to worry. ”  Her voice sounded cheerful but the way she was now angled away somehow tugged at him.  They fell into silence and Fitz found himself unable to focus on the movie, missing the soft press of her body against his. 

After a while, he finally ventured, “Jemma?  I think we should talk . . . about, um, us . . .”

But when he’d gathered enough courage to finally look at her, Jemma was slack against the pillows, eyes closed, asleep.   

 


	3. Breakfast, Boats, and Beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So upon returning from the wilderness and looking at my notes/outline, I realize I lied in the notes in the first chapter - this fic will actually be 5 chapters, not 4. 
> 
> Thanks for the lovely comments, as well. Writing fluff is still a challenge for me, so your kind words definitely help me stay motivated. :)

Jemma awoke to the sun on her face, warm despite the chill of the early morning air.  She didn’t remember falling asleep, only the hum of the movie as her eyelids had grown heavy and Fitz, strangely tensing beside her on the opposite end of the pillow fortress they’d built.  

 

It was strange, how he closed himself off sometimes.  There were moments when Jemma felt like they were two halves of the same whole, finishing each other’s sentences and completing one another’s smiles - but other times Fitz felt like he was a thousand miles away with an expression so distant and unreadable Jemma wondered if she really knew him at all.  

 

It took Jemma a minute to realize her head was resting on his chest, the beat of his heart so familiar.  She knew this position well - after all their collective movie viewing and late night study sessions, it was the one their bodies always sought out, twined together in spite of themselves.  Her fingers had found themselves laced in his, Fitz’s arm wrapped protectively around her small shoulders, pulling Jemma forward into his warmth.  She could feel him exhaling in puffs into her hair and she was blanketed in his heady scent of sleep and soap and something so distinctly Fitz.  

 

Just once Jemma would have liked him to be the first to wake - their eyes perhaps meeting before they'd have a chance to untangle, and then she would _know_.

 

But instead the scene carried out as usual, Jemma gently extracting herself from the captivity of his embrace as Fitz grunted sleepily and rolled onto his side.  She flipped on the electric kettle and set out two mugs, his heat still burned into her skin, the smell of him lingering on her clothes.  Fitz finally stirred as the water began to boil, as if on cue.

 

Shuffling into the kitchen with a hand drawn to rub the back of his neck, Fitz yawned, his curls plastered thickly against the side of his head.  Jemma pressed a warm mug between his hands and he lifted it to inhale deeply.

 

“This is why you’re my favorite person,” he said with a wide, sleepy grin.

 

“Yes, I know,” Jemma replied, rolling her eyes playfully as she put her hand on his shoulder and let it slip down the length of his arm.  The cool of morning was long to wear off and although Jemma had wrapped herself in a spare blanket, the warm ceramic still felt heavenly under her fingers as she took a seat at the small table and hunched over the rising steam.  

 

Soon Fitz emerged with breakfast, a fry-up he usually saved for special occasions or extended weekends.  As he slid the plate in front of her, Jemma glanced up to see his eager smile, impressed with himself, as always.

 

“I’m not one to brag, Simmons, but considering the rudimentary equipment I was working with in there, I think you’ll find our breakfast more than satisfactory.”

 

Jemma let out an amused puff of air as her friend took his seat beside her and raised his cutlery as if ready to attack.  She wasn’t always one for such large, heavy meals first thing in the morning, but it made Fitz so happy to cook for her, and he was always so proud, she just threw on her biggest grin and dove in.  

 

“So what’s it today, then?” he asked, cheeks brimming with sausage.  Jemma looked up from her own tidy slicing of meat (always to be proportional with the accompanying bites of egg or beans) and scoffed.

 

“Ugh, Fitz.  Do remember to chew, please.”  And when he scoffed in return, she rolled her eyes again and continued. “I thought we might try whale watching if it’s not too early in the season.”

 

“Boats, Simmons?  No way.  Don’t like being on the ocean.”

 

“That’s ridiculous, Fitz.  Have you ever actually been on a boat?”

 

Fitz dropped his silverware in dramatic protest, “I have so been on a boat before, Simmons.  I’ll have you know, I have an uncle-”

 

“Who took you fishing, yes. I remember now.  But that was on a lake, am I right?”

 

Fitz had wrinkled his nose in irritation, the way he did when feeling especially self-righteous, and proceeded to waggle his fork in Jemma’s direction.  “You don’t know _everything_ about me, you know.”

 

Jemma felt her expression soften slightly, suddenly reminded of Fitz’s unexpected shift the night before, how he’d pulled away at her touch and become a foreign object.

 

“I know.”

 

He must have noticed the change in her tone, his put-on grumpiness breaking, “You just know _most_ things about me.”

 

Jemma relaxed and warmed inwardly at the soft, reassuring smile she caught as it flashed across his face, lingering only momentarily on the corners of his mouth before he continued and his expression grew concerned.  

 

“I just don’t like the idea of being out in the middle of the ocean by ourselves,” Fitz looked down at his plate, almost sheepishly, but he looked up in surprise when Jemma’s hand snuck across the table and took up his with a comforting squeeze.  

 

“It’ll be fine, Fitz, and we won’t be alone.  There’s a whole crew of people in charge.  You might like it - the open sky and ocean breeze.”

 

“Like Titanic?” He suggested playfully.  Jemma tsked.

 

“You know, if I left the planning up to you, we’d be spending this whole holiday working illegally from your apartment.”

 

Fitz was leaning in now, about to pick up his fork for more indignant waggling.  “And what’s wrong with that?” He asked in mock offense.  “It’s not like Claudia hasn’t been texting me this whole time with questions about the lab.  It’ll be a miracle if they don’t blow the place up without us.”

 

Jemma froze, pressed to keep the amused smile on her face from fading at the mention of the gorgeous, blonde (if not elephantine) German they’d left behind in the lab.  She’d seen Fitz checking his phone more than normal, not surprised he would be in touch with at least _someone_ in the lab, but Jemma couldn’t explain the swoop of nausea in her stomach at the thought of the two of them giggling and exchanging numbers.  

 

Normally Jemma would have met Fitz’s impish remarks with her own and dug in her heels, however, the only words she could find were, “Oh.  I see.”

 

Fitz was staring at her curiously.  His head was tilted, one eyebrow slightly raised as though he were considering an especially challenging puzzle.  Then he broke.   “Aw, Jemma, I’m sorry.  You know how I can be sometimes.  If you think I’d enjoy it, I’m sure I will.” He was trying to coax her back carefully and Jemma conceded.  

 

“Oh, Fitz.  You won’t regret it.”

 

***

 

Jemma had been wrong.  He did regret it.  Fitz regretted his decision from the moment the boat pulled away from the dock, Jemma bouncing excitedly on the deck next to him as his breakfast did it’s preliminary flip in his stomach.  He regretted it as he forced himself against the railing the first time, heaving his innards into the open ocean.  And he regretted it further, an hour into their adventure, sweat-drenched face thoroughly plastered against the cool of the metal rail as he waited for the next wave of nausea to hit him.  

 

Too exhausted and miserable to be embarrassed, he could sense Jemma’s proximity on the periphery, sometimes pacing nervously beside him as he moaned into the floor, other times, sitting beside him, pulling his head into her lap and weaving fingers through his damp curls.

 

“I’m so sorry, Fitz.  I didn’t know,” she whispered as she stroked the hair on his temple.  

 

“Simmons?” he groaned into her leg.  

 

“Yes?”  Jemma replied, bending over in a futile attempt to look at him.  

 

“I hate the ocean.”

 

***

 

Fitz wasn’t sure how it was he now found himself at a sleazy local bar, leaning into the wooden counter while he waited for the graying bartender to pour him a pitcher of beer.  After he’d finally recovered, approximately an hour and one pizza after stepping off that wretched boat, Jemma had been trying desperately to apologize.  He’d eaten as much junk food as his stomach would allow and the two had found themselves staring blankly at one another over their fifth game of Uno, sadly the only game available in the small beach house.  

 

“There’s only so much Uno a person can play.” He’d said with resignation.  Jemma had sighed.  

 

“Well, are you feeling up to going out?  I don’t want to test the limits of your weak constitution,” she’d replied with a smile.  

 

Sure enough they’d walked to the nearest local dive, virtually empty on a weeknight, save for the rowdy bunch of middle aged fishermen at the pool table and a few ragged looking youths in the corner.    Jemma was waiting for him at a table, smirking behind her hand as she looked at something on her phone.  

 

“What’s that about, then?” Fitz asked as he placed the brimming pitcher down in front of her.

 

“Oh nothing, really.  Thom just texted me this picture,” she lifted up her phone to show him, “They’re playing hopscotch in the hall again.  If Dr. Baker catches them, they’ll surely hear it from admin.”  

 

Fitz sneered bitterly.  “He’s got it coming to him.  Sci-Ops is a place for innovation and research.  If they want math department shenanigans, they should go back to grad school.”  

 

Jemma only grinned at him, amused, and slipped her phone into her jacket.  Fitz couldn’t help it but the whole business had set him off, and he now sat grumpy, slouched in his chair, nursing his beer.  It wasn’t that Jemma wasn’t allowed to have other friends, clearly she was.  Just because he didn’t seem to need anyone but _her_ didn’t mean she felt the same way.  

 

Suddenly he was broken from his reverie by the feeling of her warm hand on his.  “Are you still feeling okay?  We can go back if you want.”

 

Her look of concern broke him, her brown eyes eclipsed with worry, and he shook his head.  “Nah.  I just lost myself for a moment there.  Besides, we’ve got work to do,” he replied, gesturing at the pitcher.  

 

It took three beers for Fitz to finally find his confidence and another three beers for him to lose it, but, right at his sweet spot (about 4.5) he happened to lean back after a disconcerting amount of ruckus echoed from the pool table, and observe loudly, “You should have gone for the 7, there, in the corner pocket.”

 

The larger, bearded man turned, ominously, in their direction.  “Yeah?” He was clad nearly entirely in flannel, knit cap pulled neatly over his red hair, his large boots shaking the floor with each step.

 

“Yeah, actually.  I know the setup looks impossible, but, wait -here let me show you,” Fitz continued, rising to his feet and helping himself to the pool stick in the fisherman’s clenched fist.  Taking the cue ball and placing it back down on the table he charted the intended course with his finger.  “You just have to consider the angles and force of the impact,” he explained, “It’s just basic geometry and physics.”  

 

He made the shot look effortless, the solid maroon ball sinking into the corner pocket with ease.  With that, the roguish crowd of men began to cheer, a few letting out an impressed hiss as the ball responded to Fitz’s simple maneuvering, and another round of drinks was ordered in celebration.  Before the hour was up, Fitz had managed to befriend everyone in the place, succumbing to manly slaps on the back and free shots on the house (well, that was only after he’d fixed the television monitor above the bar).

 

Jemma was beaming with delight, the way she kept possessively wrapping her fingers around his bicep and pulling herself to his side, holding his gaze just a little too long, made Fitz the slightest bit dizzy and he nervously threw back his sixth drink before the two stepped out of the bar to head home.

 

The night air was crisp against their pink cheeks and Fitz watched as Jemma drew up her coat a little tighter around her shoulders.  A comfortable silence had settled between them, tempered by the crash of the waves on the beach, just down to the right of the sidewalk.  The light of the nearly full moon shone off the water, illuminating their path despite the protesting streetlamps.

 

“Fitz?”

 

“Simmons?”

 

Jemma paused.  “Thanks for coming on this trip with me.  I - I know you’d have rather stayed home.”

 

Her eyes were focused on the ground, arms hanging loosely at her shoulders.  Moonlight encircled her silhouette, casting her features blue as she walked beside him, not quite out of reach.  Why had she thought he hadn't wanted to come?  He'd amassed these extra vacation days precisely because he didn't see the point in taking time off without her.  Even on days they barely had a moment to say good morning, it was comforting somehow, just knowing she was there.  Fitz’s tongue went slack in his mouth, unwilling to cooperate as he fought to find the right words.   _I will always be with you?_

 

He turned his head to catch her eye but hers was already steered in the direction of the water, shoulders pulled up nearly all the way to her ears.  

 

“S’ok,” he finally managed, cursing inwardly at his own inadequacy.  Jemma angled back toward Fitz and shot him a weak smile.  She was shivering slightly, collapsing inward and Fitz mustered up just enough courage to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her into his warmth.

 

“This is why you’re my favorite person.” She sighed.  But Fitz couldn’t find the courage to respond.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lovesong to EzWriter, who not only gave me the title, but also helped me in the brainstorming of all the different components, gave me inspiration, and also is my tireless beta :) Everything I write bears her imprint in one way or another and is better for it. (She's awesome)


	4. Missed Opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go - hoping to get it out this week. Thanks for sticking with this silly fluffy fic of mine ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> And a shout out to EzWriter for helping me iron out the details of this chapter!

Fitz awoke slowly, the weight of his hangover resting just behind his eyes, enough to make the thin threads of light seeping in through the blinds slightly unbearable.  He stumbled clumsily out of bed, grumpy with the sour taste of alcohol and sleep heavy on his tongue.  

 

Jemma was already at the table, showered and ready for the day.  One hand circled around her tea, the other propping up a tourism magazine she’d grabbed from somewhere, Jemma looked up at him with a soft smile and his heart stopped.  The pale early morning light was captured in her eyes, the freckles sweeping her cheeks especially visibly without the interference of make up.  She looked fresh and clean from her shower, hair still damp and falling in thick strings down her back.   

 

Perhaps it was the dull throb  at his temple, clouding his thoughts, or the lingering vestiges of sleep, but Fitz found himself paralyzed in the small hallway.  Although it was a scene he’d seen hundreds of times before, today was somehow different as he stood there, mouth gaping at his best friend.

 

Not oblivious to his sudden stupor, Jemma raised a questioning eyebrow, amusement creeping across her lips.  It was like seeing through an illusion, once his brain finally made the connection, it was impossible not to see her beauty.  He couldn’t go back if he tried.  But as Fitz was noticing, it was increasingly difficult to get his eyes and the rest of his brain to function together, and so it he stood there, blinking at her until she broke the silence.  

 

“Rough morning?  I told you those shots were a bad idea.  What is it they say about beer before liquor?”  Jemma pulled herself up and turned to walk into the kitchen.  “I’ll get you some tea.”

 

Expending what seemed like an inordinate amount of energy, Fitz was able to eventually drag his body across the room and settle into the hideous armchair opposite.  It was narrow and orange, with a dated floral pattern pressed into the upholstery.  It’s stiffness, however, did nothing to soothe the languidness of his protesting limbs and he spilled over the side, carelessly draping his legs over the armrest.  

 

Mug in hand, Jemma re-entered, and stopped in front of him with a soft click of her tongue as she passed the treasured beverage into his eager hands.  He thanked her with a nod and was taking the first greedy sip when she casually tousled his angry curls and Fitz found himself staring at the floor.  Her fingers shivered against his neck and were gone.

 

There had been a time when her touch wouldn’t have fazed him, when it wouldn’t have sent electric shocks down his spine and caused his breath to hitch in his throat, but it had been happening so frequently these days that Fitz could no longer pretend not to notice.  Maybe it was the sudden intimacy of this time together.  After being so disconnected back in the lab, perhaps this was what relaxing in a familiar friendship was supposed to feel like.  Or perhaps it was more than that.    

 

Jemma had returned wordlessly to her spot at the table, reuniting with her tea and magazine. Her back was to him, her face veiled by a curtain of dark hair.  Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.  What was he doing - staring at his friend like she was the sun on a cloudy day?  It only took her reaching to check a message on her phone to remind him her interests lay elsewhere.  

 

He tore his eyes away to stare down at the mug in his lap.  Simmons was his best friend, he reminded himself, his only friend really.  He could muck it all up by throwing the thorn of his unwanted attention into the heart of their relationship.

 

And so Fitz sat silently until his tea grew cold and he finally grunted up the energy to make his way back to the bedroom and change.

 

The shower washing away most remnants of his hangover, Fitz was still left with the headache and he cursed irritably as his clean shirt protested on it’s way down over his head.  Why hadn’t he packed anything more interesting?  A grey t-shirt wasn’t about to earn him any attention, _not that he was looking for any_ , but still, there was no shame in wanting to face the day with confidence.  

 

“Ah, Fitz, you’re looking much improved!”  Jemma cheered as he joined her on the couch.  She was sitting pressed into the arm of the chair, legs tucked up behind her, but she shifted when he sat down, flipping to face him.  

 

“Today’s going to be rather grey, I’m afraid.  There are a number of museums around we could explore -”

 

Fitz moaned, the crankiness from his hangover having not yet completely waned.  He hated museums - hours spent wandering aimlessly, making empty conversation and staring at things until his eyes crossed.  Often Jemma would find him hiding in a corner, resting against the wall in the shadows with his eyes closed.

 

She seemed to have wilted a bit after his non-verbal protest but she quickly regrouped.  “Or shopping?”

 

Fitz hated that too.  

 

“Well then.  Do you have any ideas?” Jemma asked pertly, her voiced increasingly edged with irritation.  

 

“I don’t see why we have to be in a hurry to rush out and do anything,” he retorted, the words coming out more in a childish pout than he would have liked, “You dragged me out yesterday so I could lose my lunch to the damned ocean.  Can you please just give it a rest today?”  If he’d allowed himself to continue he would have explained that _this_ was all he wanted, just him and Simmons, sitting and drinking tea slowly as their voices overlapped in the warm familiarity of their friendship.  He didn’t need beaches or museums or bloody boats, he just needed _her_.  

 

When he’d finished huffing, however, he looked over to his friend to see her face had fallen, eyes cast suddenly to the floor.  

 

“Oh.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean-” Jemma started weakly.

 

Immediately Fitz attempted damage control.  “Nononono, Jemma, look - I’m-”

 

“No, it’s okay, Fitz.  I understand.  You’re probably just eager to get back.  Three days is probably too long to go without checking in the lab at least once, you’re right.  I’ll, um - I’ll go collect my things.”

 

She stood there, nervously sweeping her hair behind her ears, Fitz struggling to find the right words without revealing himself completely.  But when none came, she turned, the click of the bedroom door causing him to flinch.

 

***

 

Jemma sat curled up in the passenger’s seat of the mammoth SUV, knees tucked into her chin as she stared through the rain speckled window.  The radio was playing softly, having landed on whatever station had seemed the least offensive for the journey and she and Fitz had fallen into silence.  The colorful language with which his speech had been imbued on the way up had disappeared, and he stared straight ahead without distraction.  

 

The night before, Jemma thought she’d seen something, just for a moment, as the two of them walked home from the bar, Fitz’s arm pulled tightly around her.  They’d stopped before the door and he’d hesitated before releasing her, turning slightly until he met her eyes, his mouth left slightly ajar.  Jemma thought she’d noticed something in that look, in the warmth of his gaze, in the slight tremble of his jaw, as though he’d wanted to say something and changed his mind.

 

It had taken all her courage, but she slid forward into his embrace, snaking arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest.  She had expected Fitz to tense, as usual, and slowly pull himself away, but instead he sunk into her, bringing his arms up to rest around her shoulders and rest his chin in her hair.  Must be the alcohol, she’d finally concluded as they finally broke apart, Fitz’s cheeks crimson as he fumbled with the key in the lock.  He hadn’t said anything as he opened the door, retreating into the kitchen where he’d poured them each a large glass of water and then excused himself for bed.

 

In the morning, however, when Fitz remained distant, Jemma could only figure he’d had enough of their time together and wanted to go home.  How else could she interpret the vague responses he’d given to her questions or the way he’d snapped at her when she’d brought up activities for the day?  Of course she didn’t want to consider _who_ , Fitz was eager to get back to, but she couldn’t keep from flinching each time she saw him leaning to check his phone.  

 

Jemma blamed herself mostly.  She’d enjoyed their vacation together a little too much, revelled just a little too long in his attention, made too many excuses to feel his arms around her.  As soon as they returned, Jemma knew things would pick up their normal pace, Fitz being summoned to meetings as his expertise was required by other divisions, and they’d pass like shadows once again in the lab, stealing only a lunch together here and there.  And it wasn’t enough, not for her.  He was her best friend, he was . . . more than that.

 

But she’d missed it.  Jemma didn’t know how but she’d lost her chance and now they were charting a path home where the momentum of life was waiting to wrap them up and sweep them away.  


	5. Accidental Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I'm late posting this. Life ran away with me and then the husbands were busy invading all my quiet writing time with their very loud video gaming *sighs* So thanks for waiting :) 
> 
> And thanks to my dear friend, Jennifer, for forcing me to finish this chapter because she wanted to know what happened. She's tops.

“ _ Meine Gute _ ,” Jemma muttered under her breath as she looked down at her work in annoyance at the scene unfolding before her.

 

Claudia was wearing a heavy pout, putting on the thickest of her German accents, and was twirling a golden lock of hair around a finger as she prominently bent over in front of Fitz to pick up the pen she’d dropped  _ again _ .  The two had been working with the same equipment for the last twenty minutes and if the shapely blonde heaved her bosom one more time, Jemma was worried she might lose her lunch.  

 

“Perhaps you could show me one last time, Herr Doktor?  I nearly understand now.”  

 

Oh no.  She was going full German, and given Fitz’s weakness for German engineering, the woman had to be stopped. 

 

Claudia was just about to bite into an “ _ Ach so…”  _ when Jemma had had enough.  With more force than she’d intended, Jemma slammed the full spectrum goggles Fitz had designed for her down on the table and strode toward the pair.  

 

“Ms. Klein!” Jemma interrupted, her voice coming out in a shrill soprano, “When you are quite finished wasting Dr. Fitz’s time, I would appreciate it if you would run those samples I asked of you yesterday!”  

 

Claudia’s head snapped up, face crumbling in humiliation.  Jemma was having second thoughts, but it was too late, the intern had already scooped up her materials and scurried away.  

 

Fitz’s expression was pure shock.  “And you accuse me of being awful to the staff!  You could’ve at least been civil, Simmons!”  His scolding tone brought Jemma back to her place, his words reigning her in.  She stood there, jaw slack in response to his disappointed stare.  

 

“I’m - I’m sorry, Fitz,” she whispered, haltingly.  “You’re absolutely right.”

 

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to!” he replied, exasperatedly gesturing to the blonde in the corner, who, in her embarrassment, seemed to have lost two feet in height.  

 

Jemma’s shame was slowly abating, however.  There was something about his quick defense, the image of Claudia’s bosom thrusting still fresh in her mind, that spurred her on, settling in her chest like a newspaper on warm coals.    

 

“Of course you would defend her,” she found herself haughtily spitting out, eyes rolling, “You didn’t find it at all unprofessional how she was practically  _ throwing _ herself at you?   
  


“Wha-” Fitz scrubbed a hand over his face in disbelief.  

 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Fitz!” Jemma continued, anger mounting, “She’s practically a bloody Barbie doll!”

 

It was then Jemma realized her voice may have perhaps gotten louder than she’d anticipated as Fitz pulled her quickly over to the storage closet and pushed her inside.  The door clicking shut behind them, he rested a hand on his hip, sending the other quickly through his har. 

 

“Jesus, Jemma.  What’s gotten into you?”  

 

Jemma crossed her arms with an indignant puff.  “I’m merely suggesting we maintain a little bit of professional decorum in this lab!”

 

Fitz glowered at her, hands launching incensed into the air.  “Oh right,” he replied, nose crinkling at the bridge, “like you don’t know you're already the prettiest girl here?”  He continued, with a huff.  “Professional decorum, eh?  Like you making a spectacle of yourself in front of those mathema-”

 

“You think I’m pretty?” Jemma cut in, her voice suddenly empty of its former heat, hanging like an echo in the air.  

 

Fitz suddenly looked like he’d choked on his tongue, the color rushing first out of his face, only to return in full force.  His restless features quickly stilled, eyes blown wide, and he seemed paralyzed, mouth left slightly gaping.  

 

“Um,” he stammered.  He pursed his mouth in a weak effort toward bravado, “Well, you know, I  _ guess _ you’re perfectly adequate.  I mean, you’re not the  _ least  _ attractive person I’ve come across. . .” he trailed off, smacking the words like they were peanut butter on his tongue, and Jemma felt her shoulders involuntarily sink low in disappointment.  

 

“Right.” She exhaled “It’s no matter, then.  I’ve got-”

 

“Of course I do, Jemma.” Fitz interrupted softly.  He was staring at the floor now, his body having relaxed and gone the other direction as he curled into himself, hands stuffed in pockets, feet anxiously scuffing the floor.  

 

An inadvertent smile was creeping across Jemma’s face.   _ He was nervous.  Fitz _ was nervous because he thought she was  _ pretty.   _

 

“If it helps,” she replied, boldly stepping into his space, “I think you’re  _ perfectly adequate _ too.”

 

Jemma’s voice was teasing and Fitz sheepishly raised his eyes to find her wide grin and returned it, lighting the small room with their incandescence.  

 

It happened like an unspoken request, Fitz pulling her gently into his circle as Jemma lifted her hand to trace the line of his jaw.  When their lips brushed it was a feather touch, nerves dancing in the pit of their stomachs until longing got the better of them.  Fitz tangled a hand in her hair and Jemma found herself nipping at his bottom lip, begging for entrance.  

 

They emerged from the storage closet later, hair tousled, lips swollen, with mischievous grins stretching wide across their faces and fingers conspicuously finding excuses to brush.   But the lab techs said nothing, exchanging only a wink or two, Claudia releasing a disappointed sigh.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Thanks so much for joining me on this fluffy adventure of mine! It has been a sufficient flexing of my angsty muscles, that's for sure! 
> 
> Also - I hope my pandering to stereotypes didn't offend any Germans with the silliness of this chapter. They are a lovely group of people and in no way comical, strictly tall, or necessarily full bosomed. 
> 
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are wonderful! They let me know what's working and what isn't! So your feedback is SO appreciated!!!


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